


Where the sun dies...

by AcruxRegulus



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcruxRegulus/pseuds/AcruxRegulus
Summary: Ragnar worries about a friend, he left behind in England. Will he see him again one day? Or is there no chance he's alive?
Relationships: Athelstan/Ragnar Lothbrok
Kudos: 15





	1. Concerns

**Author's Note:**

> A little story about my favourite pairing. I start slowly with short chapters, so I can try to improve my English. In case I write total bullshit, please make me aware of xD  
> No more words... have fun :)

"Ragnar. Ragnar! Listen! Look at me, Ragnar! And stop running around like ... this." Aslaug stood there for a while now watching her husband, who looked like he was preparing for a fight. He was nervous and restless and his impatient step betrayed what was going on inside him.

"What?", Ragnar growled deeply. His light blue eyes were beaming in a way they shouldn't. They made him look crazy and bellicose. Aslaug was worried. She tried to smile softly; tried to find a way for calming him down, but she failed.

"Don't be ridiculous! You behave childish. You are a king, Ragnar. Don't forget this."  
Ragnar turned around and looked straight into her eyes. There was something in his eyes, something strange, maybe anger or something different, she didn't know.

"What if he's hurt? What if he's hurt or ... even worse? What if he's dead?" He asked suddenly and without context. That way he ignored Aslaug’s words like they didn’t matter. It wasn't important anyway. He was a king, well. However, the thing was: right now, he didn't feel like one. Or in better words: he didn't want to feel like one. 

The only thing that mattered at the moment was Athelstan.  
And he wasn't here. He wasn't here and because of that Ragnar was worried.  
He was in England. With them.  
Actually, that wasn't bad. He had chosen to stay because it was useful for the Norsemen. But then Ragnar received a message that a fight had taken place. Many warriors died. And Athelstan? He did not know. He did not know and it drove him crazy.

He couldn't be dead! But what if...? No! Athelstan was alive. He was alive and safe. Ragnar knew. That had to be the truth.

"So what if he's dead, hmm? Is that your only worry? The priest? What is with the men we lost? The families, who are splitted now? He was one of them who destroyed the village; who broke their promises! We can't trust him. Maybe he's dead, but that shouldn't be your pain, Ragnar. Because a king has to take care of his retinue. - Athelstan wasn't one of it."  
Aslaug spoke clearly and urgently. No one could miss what she wanted to say. 

But Ragnar's opinion was different. Very different.

"How dare you speak such judgmental words! You don't know anything about him ... or me!" Ragnar's voice trembled with anger, but Aslaug didn't get disconcert.

"Of course I know you. I have born you four sons. We are in love. So why shouldn't I recognize you? You must be out of your mind!"

Ragnar shook his head.   
"No. I'm fine. But you ... If you really knew my person then you would know that Athelstan is an important ... friend. He's my friend. Maybe even the only one I can ..." He stopped.

"Trust?", Aslaug finished his sentence, questioning.

"I want you to leave now", Ragnar said, his voice dry, but calm.

"Ragnar..."

"I said, leave! I don't want to see your ... face anymore. I want to be alone."  
There was no chance for Aslaug. She had no other way than obeying. She left sulkily, without more saying.

And Ragnar stayed. Stayed only with his thoughts and concerns.

"Athelstan. Where are you, Athelstan? If I could just find out if you're okay... If something went wrong... what shall I do without you? My dear friend... what shall I do then?"

He ran back and forth. Again and again. His thoughts revolving. He knew, somewhere Aslaug was right. He was a king. A king who probably made the worst mistake in his life. Who should forgive him that? This disaster he caused?

But he couldn't help himself. No matter how hard he concentrated, his mind always led him back to Athelstan.

He saw his face. His eyes. His sweet, soft smile. And he missed him. He missed him so strongly that it hurt. It was a deep pain Ragnar hadn't known before.  
Why didn't it stop? These concerns, these pains. Why didn't it stop?

It seemed like the only thing that Ragnar wanted right now was Athelstan.  
"I will find him.", he thought.  
"I will find him and then I will bring him back to me."  
It was a promise. And in contrast to the Anglo-Saxons, Ragnar was no man who broke his promises.


	2. Crucified

Athelstan was anxious. He had no chance to get out of this. At least not alive. His only opportunity was to hide. Hide and hope and pray. He never gave up on praying. But his time with Ragnar … it was so different. Everything was different now. Should he pray to God? Or to Odin? Sometimes he found himself thinking if whether there was a God at all.

And then they found him. He had known it. He'd known, that he had no chance. And he also knew what they would do to him. However, that moment he saw the cross the first time, it was like all cold of world would hit him and he froze right where he stood.

“No”, he whispered.  
“No…!”  
It was a nightmare come true. That couldn’t be real! He must be dreaming! But he was awake…  
_“The monk … his prophecies … they come true”,_ he thought in fear. Was that his fate? Was that the will of god? That he got crucified?

_“Lord! Forgive me my sins!”_ His prayers would no longer help him either.

The bishop looked at him with disgust; like he was an ugly insect.  
He was led forward, until they reached the cross laying in the grass. When he was a monk, he was taught not to see death as the end. It was a start. He had been told that when the hour came, he would be ready. But Athelstan wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready at all!

“Please…!” It was a whisper nobody heard. His throat was dry; he could hardly speak. Every conceivable word scratched his throat just at the thought of saying it.

His steps grew smaller; slower, but he was mercilessly pushed forward. He fell down on his knees, weeping. The tears made their way down his cheeks – he couldn’t stop them. He was weak. Like the Norsemen said. They never missed a chance to told him. He was weak. Weak. Weak. Weak! Damn! They were right. He was no Viking. He was not strong. He was a weak monk, not more, not less.

_“No!”,_ a little voice whispered suddenly.  
_“That’s not true!”_  
Athelstan didn’t know, if he just imagined this voice. Probably it was that way. The Saxons kicked him; spat on him – he did not resist.

_“Ragnar don’t think you’re weak! Ragnar believes in you!”_ There was the voice again. This time Athelstan knew it was in his head.  
_“He believes in me for what? I disappointed him! I disappointed him…”,_ Athelstan thought sadly; maybe even repentantly. Repentantly, because this was his hour of death and he would never see Ragnar again. Never again…

“Any last words before you die?”, the bishop asked, but Athelstan was unable to speak. The Saxons stared at him, a mix of expectation and hate in their eyes.  
“Good as well. Nail him on!” This was the signal. At beginning Athelstan had thought of running away, now it was clear, that his fate was sealed.

The next things happened like he was in trance. His cheeks were wet from the tears; he could taste blood. The wood of the cross scratched his skin through his worn clothes. He had his eyes closed; couldn’t face what would come next.

And then it started.

It was the greatest pain Athelstan had ever sensed. The first nail which dug in his wrist; the smell of blood. And the pain. It was like it would never stop.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to scream out all his suffering; all his fears. All this PAIN.

Maybe he even screamed. He didn’t know. He didn’t notice. He noticed nothing besides the pain.

The second nail was even worse. But there weren’t any tears anymore. There wasn’t any sadness or fear. There wasn’t anger or panic. All that had been left was … nothing. A hole. A deep, empty hole. And with every stroke of the hammer he could feel his soul splitting.

“Ragnar…”, he stammered.  
“Ragnar…”

“What did he say?”, one of the Saxons asked.  
“He’s begging for his life!”, another answered, grinning.

Athelstan didn’t hear anything of their saying. At this moment, he only wanted to die. Finally die. And if he were dead, he would never have to sense this pain again. Namely, not only the physical pain, but also the pain of his heart. This unspeakable hurt of never seeing Ragnar again.

_“In heaven there is no pain”,_ he thought. It was his last hope. And he clung on this hope.  
_“No matter if Viking or Christ, I never stopped believing. I never gave up my faith. Did I?”_

_“But if Ragnar had asked…”_ No! Not even for Ragnar he would give up his faith. And for Ragnar he would do pretty much…

_“Lord! Please let me enter your halls!”_  
Athelstan closed his eyes, waiting for death. He didn’t want to suffer anymore, but his mind let him even more suffer. These pictures of Ragnar appearing in his head… it was torture.

And then he heard the voice. The voice which should safe his life.


	3. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say sorry for so much dialogue from the original series. It's not all correct, I know, but I watched the video of their first meeting so often for understanding as much as possible. ^^  
> Hope you enjoy, even if the chapter isn't that long... I try my best to get better :)

_It was loud. Extremely loud. Like hammers demolishing his skull. He was anxious and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, but the main thing was, that he had the Bible in safety. Then he heard steps. They came closer.  
At next moment a strong arm grabbed him and dragged him out of hiding. This was the end. He knew it._

_He fell hard on the floor. It hurt, but he ignored the pain._

_He didn’t want to stare death in eyes, but he couldn't move, couldn't look away. With wide open eyes and a fearful look, he met his fate.  
>> No! No! No! << he kept repeating in his head.  
“No! Please!”, he whispered panicked and without thinking. It was a reflex, an instinct that intervened without his mind. Surprised the strangers stopped in motion. The words sounded not like the language the other monks spoke. It was their language._

_“He speak our language!”, one of them said and suddenly the man, who pulled him so roughly from his hiding place took a quick step towards him.  
“How do you speak our language?” The dangerous looking Viking threatened him with a knife and he could feel the sharp blade on the skin on his neck._

_He swallowed._

_“I’ve travelled”, he spoke and tried not to sound too anxious.  
“We’ve told to travelled to take the word of God.” The Viking could have killed him at any time, but he was still waiting. It was like he was irritated that a Saxon was able to speak their language. Athelstan felt something like hope crawling up his heart and so he tried for last time to come out of this scurrile situation.  
"Please … don’t kill me!" It was a helpless whisper for mercy, and he almost didn't believe it himself. But suddenly something changed in the man's eyes. He seemed thoughtful – and then he let go of him._

_The young monk could feel the burning gaze of the Viking on him and he was not able to move, so he stared at the conquerors in fear, not knowing what was coming next._

_“What’s that you having in your hand?”, the Viking asked him and he was almost sure, that this man was the leader of the group._

_“A book … I wanted to safe it”, the monk explained with a trembling voice and before he could count to three, the man who had just threatened him grabbed for the Bible and snatched it away from him.  
Then he began to leaf through it, shaking it; he obviously was looking for something, he didn’t find._

_“Of all the treasures I see in this place, you chose to safe … this?”  
“Yes”, was the straight answer from the monk. Without doubts: The Bible was all he believed in._

_“Why?”, the Viking asked softly, but the monk couldn’t answer, when he was already dragged to his feet and taken into distress.  
“Why?”  
He swallowed again and he didn't know, what was worse: the knowledge, that he could die at every moment, or the fact, that he wasn't already dead._

_“Because without the word of God, there will be only darkness”, he finally stammered. More Vikings entered the room. There could be no chance, that he would get out of this alive. They spoke a few words … the monk understood something that sounded like “women”._

_One of the new ones came nearer. He talked to the leader and it didn’t sound well. At least not well for him.  
“Why don’t we kill him?”, the one asked.  
“He’s worth more alive.”_

_“I will kill him! There is no more store left on the boat!”  
The monk winced and saw his fate coming. He mumbled one prayer after another.  
“I forbid it!”, the Viking leader answered._

>|<

>>I forbid it!<<  
>>I forbid it!<<  
>>I forbid it!<<

Athelstan woke up drenched in sweat and panting. It took him a little to find his way around here, before he remembered where he was – and that was not Kattegat.  
_“England. The cross. King Ecbert.”_ Suddenly the memories came back to him. Even if he already was here for a few days now, he didn’t really get along with the things happened. He was alive – that was one thing. But there was so much more he didn’t understand. Why did king Ecbert safe his life? Why did he bring him here to the castle? And why did he have these dreams every night? It was horrible!

He wasn’t really able to sleep anymore, because every time he closed his eyes, Ragnar came and brought him away from England. It was always the same scene; always the same memories. And always the same feelings when he woke up. It was kind of a pain, that clawed his heart and he didn’t get rid of it.  
_“You are homesick!”_ , whispered a voice in his head and it could be the realization, but Athelstan ignored it.

How he could be homesick, if England was originally his home? It didn’t make sense to him – did it?  
_“Will Ragnar come back? But what is if not? Maybe I should be glad to be alive and feel … finally at home again.”_ He thought back and forth, but around every corner Ragnar seemed to be waiting for him.


End file.
